by S Kaeth
The priest’s smile didn’t dim. “We are all children of Kellendine, even the Outsiders.”
Taunos stared at the flickering flame, fighting for control over his frustration and fear. “Will you remind your people of that if they work themselves into a frenzy? Will you keep them from thinking of war?”
The priest frowned. “War? What, with the Outsiders? The Scouts would need to gain the agreement of the Justices and Philosophers for that.”
“The people seem ready enough,” Taunos said, tilting his head meaningfully toward the wall.
The priest shook his head. “The people do not mind you. The nobles make up the majority of that mob.”
“Can you help us?”
“I am sorry, my son. I will speak for you, but I cannot take sides. The nobles would not listen, anyway. Kellendine has raised them much higher than I.”
Taunos snorted. “Seems you need to talk to Ra’ael. She would happily enlighten you on the respect my people give our priests and priestesses.”
The priest smiled. “I have heard. She and Dode come here often to worship.”
“Dode said we were in the Scouts’ sector. Would it have changed if we were elsewhere?”
The priest shook his head. “Not to any degree that matters to you. Two ebrs of the Scouts claiming asylum, and one of you from a highly respected family—the Scouts take offense to such things. They patrol all districts of the City, but if they caught you in a district controlled by one of the other noble factions, they would report to them. That you also claimed asylum in a Scouting district, this will only heighten their anger.”
“What happens if we’re still here when a crowd comes to worship?”
“I will give you my own room if you wish it, to be sure no one tries to capture you. I promise you, on my faith in Kellendine, I will hold to the Honor of the Law. No one will wrest you from asylum on my watch. But once the Scouts organize, there is nothing I can do. I am sorry. I will pray for you.”
Taunos nodded.
“You carry heavy burdens.” The priest laid a hand on his shoulder. “Who put these on you? Set them down.”
Who had? The Elders, he thought immediately. But that wasn’t so, not truly. He’d been protecting his people ever since that night at the end of Ra’ael, Takiyah, and Kaemada’s yahs, when he’d woken to find his kaetal attacked by Darks. The night he’d first been called a hero.
How could he release himself of that burden, of the responsibility for his people? He wasn’t sure he wanted to, heavy as it was. It didn’t seem quite honorable. And yet, here in the chapel, Ra’ael shone and Takiyah no longer trembled.
“I do not know if I can set them down,” he confessed. “But I will see what I can do about sharing them.”
The priest grinned, inclining his head.
“Tāt woowanihum bunlaey, dasa woodisāum nlaey, reln wooteirihum nlaey.” Ra’ael was chanting as they paused by the bench.
A questioning look on his face, the priest paused.
Taunos smiled and translated. “Fire walk with you, water guide you, mists protect you.”
The priest bowed, his expression pleased. “May the Gifts of the Takanis light your way, the Gifts of the Prusotak clear your mind, and may the love of Kellendine guide your heart. I will be just around the corner if you need me.”
Taunos woke from a restless sleep. The clamor of angry voices filled the air. He leapt to his feet, tensed and ready. A blanket fell to the ground, and he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The priest must have covered them at some point in the night. Odd, that he hadn’t woken. No one else was visible aside from Ra’ael, sitting up warily and Takiyah stirring.
Taunos went to the window. The crowd had grown larger still, including several Scouts in uniform. The priest had been right—nearly all the people in the crowd wore finely woven garments, and several wore jewels. A line of people struggled to get through the mob, and Taunos recognized Dode among them, but the crowd blocked their way. Chanting rang out, voices seasoned with hatred and fear. Some called for the priest to stop harboring fugitives. Others cried out for the priest to be dragged out to face the Justices.
His expression worn and anxious, the priest emerged from his room carrying a tea tray. Still, he greeted them and poured cups of steaming tea.
Taunos held up the blanket. “Thank you.”
The priest smiled again. “It is nothing.” But Taunos saw through the lie, noting how the priest rubbed his bald head as he peered out of the windows, pacing from one to another.
Ra’ael invited him to share the tea, and the priest reluctantly joined them. Silence stretched between them as they drank. Taunos forced himself to appear calm, but that task became harder and harder, his nerves fraying as the clamor outside increased.
A sharp, metallic taste assaulted Taunos, with a smell like the air after a storm. Ra’ael wrinkled her nose, clearly sensing it as well.
“What is it?” Takiyah asked, gripping their hands.
“It’s as if you bit down on the flat of a blade, only in your mind,” Ra’ael explained.
“That’s the Gift of the Takanis.” The priest’s tone was thoughtful.
“What?” Taunos asked. It was the same feeling he’d sensed before he’d fought the thieves, but he’d never gotten an explanation.
“I have felt it before, in Dode’s rock garden. She made a handful of pebbles become one rock somehow,” Ra’ael said.
Taunos raised his eyebrows.
“What are they doing?” Takiyah asked.
The walls shuddered, and the priest ran from one window to another, fear etched in every line of his body. That did not bode well. Would the mob storm the chapel to seize them? Every exit was blocked, the entire building surrounded. Taunos ground his teeth, looking around. There had to be a way out.
“They would not dare! They would not dare!” the priest replied. And yet, his frightened eyes darted around his precious chapel, his fingers fidgeting at his robes anxiously.
Taunos took Ra’ael’s hand as the building shuddered again, dropping dust from the ceiling. Takiyah cried out, her face twisted in panic. As she clutched at him, fresh hatred for the Kamalti filled his heart. He pulled them both to the middle of the chapel, away from the walls.
“The blasphemy!” The priest scowled. The metallic twang rose abruptly—coming from him.
Whole sections of the ceiling cracked and shifted, raining debris. Taunos and Ra’ael, their fingers entwined, pushed at the larger sections with their telekinesis, but the dust rose and choked them. Somehow, the ceiling didn’t collapse. The priest stood next to them, his face rigid with strain, hands raised upward much like theirs were. Even united, they were barely holding the ceiling together.
A stained glass window exploded, and the priest cried out in anguish. A section of the ceiling fell on the candles next to the beautiful crystals on the altar.
“No, no, no, not the crystals!” The priest raced to the altar.
“No, come back,” yelled Ra’ael.
The weight of the ceiling on his telekinesis increased, and Taunos’s knees buckled under the strain. He groaned, the pressure growing further as Ra’ael reached out to the side. Smaller rocks fell to the side of the priest. A slab of stone shifted, crashing toward them. Taunos yelled, pushing it away, but it was too big, and he was too exhausted. The stones came down, the dust rose up, and they were buried alive.
Claustrophobia pressed against him, snuffing out any thoughts. Taunos struggled blindly. Ra’ael flailed, kicking him in the shin. Sparks flashed, and he glimpsed Takiyah’s face. She grabbed his hand, and he held on tight as she pulled. Rubble shifted around them, smothering him. Another flash of fire, another pull. He kicked his way free of a large rock. And then, suddenly, there was light and air. He gasped, dragging himself to the surface as Takiyah pulled Ra’ael, kicking and clawing, to the top as well. Taunos grabbed their hands as they lay on the ruins of the chapel. They had to move, but he couldn’t summon the strength. All he coul
d do was cough and struggle to breathe. His head pounded, his vision dimmed from the strength of the telekinesis he’d used.
“There they are!” someone cried.
“Get them!”
Rough hands seized them, pressing his face into the sharp stones. He twisted and fought, roaring his defiance even as his hands were bound behind his back.
“It’s not your fault, Taunos,” Takiyah shouted beside him. “It is not your fault.”
But it was. He should have seen this coming, shouldn’t have allowed the situations that put them here. And Takiyah had suffered the worst of all of them.
The man holding Takiyah down struck her, shouting, “Be quiet.”
“Leave her alone. Leave her—” Taunos struggled to no avail.
They dragged him backward, away from Ra’ael and Takiyah, wrenching his arms. He gritted his teeth and fought harder, seeing the look on Takiyah’s face as she was yanked farther from Ra’ael. A cold iron collar snapped around his neck, heavy with captivity and cruelty, and all he could do was watch as collars were fastened around Ra’ael’s and Takiyah’s necks, too.
“What is going on here?” Dode’s voice was cold with fury, coming around the edge of the rubble.
“Go away, Dode.” Answer’s tone was just as icy.
Hearing her voice, Taunos twisted. The Kamalti holding him struck the side of his head, sending him to his knees.
“What happened to the chapel!?” cried Dode in disbelief and outrage.
“It fell,” Answer snapped. Taunos looked up to glimpse Answer turning away, struggling with her composure.
“The priest!” Ra’ael gasped. “He ran to save the crystals. The roof fell. I could not stop it.”
Murmurs ran through parts of the crowd, while others remained silent, glaring. Answer glanced back and winced, guilt all over her face.
Dode’s voice shook with rage. “It is true they no longer have asylum if there is no longer a church. Could you not find another way? Was this worth it?”
“This was done when I got here,” Answer protested.
“But did you know about it?” Dode glared at the crowd. “Clear this rubble. Can you not see we must find out if you have murdered a man?”
JAETAN-AETHA
Chapter Twenty-one
It is a great sadness when a child is born with a deformity or stain, such as magic blood. However, those who use magic or who are too deformed for society must be cast aside for the greater order to prevail. Those who shield such creatures should be fined to teach them to obey, especially given the reasons…
-letter scrap in the City of Codr
Pressure built inside Kaemada’s head like she was an egg being cracked open. It was just like after she fell, during her first encounter with these people. In remembering, she felt the sensation doubly: in the present and in the past, together at once. The strangers forced their way through her defenses while she once again was unable to use her powers. Fear seized her. If they continued to force access to her psionics, could they cripple her permanently? She shivered and pushed back at them, panicked that her abilities might be forever lost to her.
Nonsense! clamored voices in her mind. We are careful. You will see. We are gentle.
The voices rose louder, hundreds of them all demanding her attention such that she couldn’t focus to hear or see the outside world. She struggled against them, choked on them, drowned in them.
Stop fighting us. You have the Gift. Use the Gift. The Gift makes us one, and you will be one with us. This is the Great Sharing. The Magnificent Cooperative. The Glorious Collective. The Splendid Union.
Kaemada floated. The ocean surged around her, at once as tumultuous and dangerous as Dead Man’s Sea yet also as inviting and comforting as the seas of Havenshore. It was an ocean made of the minds and thoughts, the desires and feelings, the personalities and hopes, dreams, and fears of the Kamalti psions. They were welcoming and reserved, excited and angry, understanding and quick to take offense. They washed over her and around her such that sometimes she floundered and sometimes she soared.
In such a sea of persons and minds, she kept losing hold of who she was and what she wanted and how she felt. Was this how it felt to be an untrained psion when they lost all sense of themselves? It was liberating and terrifying all at the same time. The ripples of her own feelings spread throughout the collection of minds merged around her and with her.
The time she spent in the oblivion and fullness that consumed her, and yet was her, seemed at once infinite and minuscule. She was there for moments. She was there for an eternity.
Far away, soft hands patted her face. It was familiar, and a great love rose in her. Small hands, frantic. She fought her way free of the lull and the pull of the other minds. She was lying on the cold hard floor of the tunnel. Eian was patting her face, sobbing. Was he all alone?
The answer came immediately to her mind. The others are lying near you, sleeping. Images of Elisabei and Reinan bloomed in her vision. They threatened the Collective and have been punished. They are bad, dangerous. They should be sent back to the City.
No! They were her friends! They were good people, and she trusted them. They weren’t going to hurt them. They only felt attacked.
Attacked. The Kamalti psions are being attacked. You are a psion. Stand with the Collective. Stand against the intruders, except the small one.
No! Her thoughts kept merging with the Collective’s, her will melding with theirs. She struggled, focusing on the impossible task of keeping herself separate. No, they’re not a danger. She needed to wake up. Could she wake up? Would it hurt?
The pain in her head was gone. The damage had been soothed and the pain had been shared and diluted.
Eian was frightened. She needed to comfort him.
Images, emotions, and thoughts washed over her, spinning her around and disorienting her as thoroughly as the time many summers ago when she had slipped and fallen under a waterfall, pummeled by the waters. Her song was mixing with the larger, louder song of the Collective, becoming only a harmony to theirs. If she’d had Tannevar with her, she could have relied on his steady presence and their strong bond to anchor her to herself. Instead, she was besieged by images and spun around and around until there was no edge between herself and others. There was only being.
A babe and a very young woman sheltered beneath the Seeker Tree with its unique white bark and silver leaves. The grass around grew lush and green, then brown and brittle, then frosted and covered with snow, then sparse and light green, finally back to the lush green of before. The babe and the young woman completed a cycle of seasons under the Seeker Tree. The woman disappeared, and the babe was left alone. And then a cloaked figure came and took the infant.
Kamalti moved about, reading aloud to vast audiences from ancient, well-maintained, and beautifully engraved books. An angry crowd shouted and shook their fists, throwing objects. They pushed the Kamalti forth from them. A door shut firmly, leaving the exiled on one side and the community on the other.
Great scraps of burning metal fell, and strange people emerged who looked much like Rinaryn but taller, with no wings. They looked like Takiyah and Galod. Kamalti greeted them, bowing low with awe.
There was her, walking up on high, falling toward the edge of the ridge. Many hands reached up and pushed Ra’ael and Taunos’s hands away. Be one with us. They cradled her, gently bringing her to the surface.
Kamalti psions ventured out into the City of the Lost in the chaos following the king’s death, drawn by curiosity about her mind-burst. Pleasure filled them as they spoke to sleeping psions, and confusion boiled in them as those minds winked out again and again. Their hatred and fear of the Angels, their worry over the screaming Angels, surrounded her. Light caught them and blinded them, and therefore her, painful and blazing. Their fear of the sunlight she loved so much flowed through her.
Emotions spilled over her with the images—fear, respect, admiration, shame, anger, hatred, honor, love, joy, jealousy,
confusion.
Kaemada’s head spun. Some of what she saw was symbolism, had to be symbolism, but which parts? The onslaught of incoming thoughts and images and emotions made it impossible to process any one thing. Shock struck her like a splash of cold water in the face. The people down here were all either psions or those considered deformed. That was wrong.
The ancient stories ran through her mind, how the psions grew powerful in the Great War so long ago. She told them how the people became afraid of the psions and targeted them first in battles, together with those who had wings. Some even targeted and killed psions on their own side. Torkaema had brought the people together, ending the wars. He was tolerant of the psions, and now psions were accepted so long as they used their powers only for the good of the community.
We’re not broken. We’re not deformed. We are powerful. We are strong. We’re not subject to their judgement of our worth!
She rode on the waves of the minds around her, rudderless, out of control. No! She needed an anchor. She missed Tannevar, grief overwhelming her.
The wolf fell, died, and fed the multitude, living on in their bodies. The sacrifice was worthy.
No! Anger and nausea filled her, and confusion at her own rage, echoing from the psions’ confusion.
She tore herself apart from them. She was separate. She was not with of the mass of minds. She was her own!
At long last, she was released, and she crawled back to her body, or in what direction she hoped her body was. She needed to regain her senses. Eian. Eian had been crying. She was Kaemada. She was separate from the melded minds around her. She had to check on Eian.
~
Elisabei woke first, to the sound of Eian weeping. Her head pounded as she struggled to sit up. The Kamalti stared at them, looming from the shadows. The old horror of seeing them for the very first time washed over her. Despite herself, Elisabei shuddered.
